Here was a woman who certainly possessed the fairest of the Christian virtues. She was gentle, tolerant, generous (with a twinge of compunction he realized how great a part the anticipated loss of her donations had played in his reflections during the walk from the Vicarage to Fairholme Court). She was patient, longsuffering,--the Vicar ran through the whole gamut of spiritual gifts, and acknowledged her richly endowed. Could it be that there were other paths to the Kingdom of Heaven than the strait way and the narrow gate that alone were said to lead to salvation? The very useful brain of Mr. Carfax, unaccustomed to be exercised in unusual directions, began to feel the strain, and its possessor wisely took the hint, and abandoned the fatiguing labour of original research. In any case Miss Page was a charming woman, and by however amazing process the result had been achieved, a good one also. He looked at her, and with a sudden frank movement, held out his hand. “Forgive me,” he said simply. “You--you have shown me I had no right to judge. I beg your pardon.” Anne put her hand into his with a very sweet smile. “My dear friend,” she replied, “you must do what you think right, and Dymfield will not be behind the judgment of most of the world in this matter. You know I love the place, but I can’t stay here when the people no longer look upon me as a friend. Well, the world is wide, and fortunately for me I’m not a poor woman.” “You mustn’t leave us! You won’t leave us!” begged the Vicar. “There will be no occasion. The position is unchanged. The only two people who know anything of--of the matter, are your friends. Even if through malice or carelessness a breath of scandal should reach others, surely you can trust us to treat the rumour with the----” He hesitated. “With the contempt it doesn’t deserve?” suggested Anne gently. Greatly to his surprise, and somewhat to his horror, the Reverend George Carfax was betrayed into an answering smile. He hastened to efface it, but the deed was done. “And Sylvia?” asked Anne tentatively. “I wanted her to stay with me for a few days. You have only to say if you would rather she did not, and I won’t ask her.” “If after all the trouble she has given you, Sylvia will be welcome, I can answer for her delight,” returned Mr. Carfax promptly. Anne put out her hand with an impulsive gesture. “You are quite a dear!” she observed, and her sudden smile still further illuminated the dusky corners of the Vicar’s strictly limited imagination. The entrance of Burks with the tea-things gave him a moment to recover from the shock of a series of mental and emotional upheavals to which he was unaccustomed. “You will stay, of course?” begged Anne. “My note to your wife was quite explicit,” she added. “She won’t be anxious now.” “Thank you,” said Mr. Carfax. “I want to hear particulars about Sylvia, and I feel I should be all the better for a cup of tea.”